Three Hundred and SixtyFive Days
by HPOD sufferer
Summary: Oneshot. It's been 365 days since I fell in love. Yes, me, Gimmy Weasley, have been in love for a year.Oh, and I don't have a boyfriend.


**Three Hundred and Sixty-Five Days**

**by HPOD Sufferer**

_Love is everlasting, but a year can last as long._

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Dear Diary,

It's been three hunbdred and sixty-five days since I fell in love, and I've come to the conclusion that this year has been the most aweful, horrific, tiring, scary, bestest year I've lived through yet.

I'm not exactly sure why I am writing in a diary. Common logic would be that I should be too scared to touch anything remotely looking like a journal, but thruth is, despite what Tom did to me, I still enjoyed having a diary very much.

Because, let's face it, who else would I tell all of my secret desires?

Mum - are you serious? Yeah, she's fun, but I am totally not telling her what I wish I could do if I ever got into a scenario that included Harry, me, and a bed. Nuh - uh. Brothers, ditto. Dad? Now that's a scary thought. Hermione, Luna, or any of the other girls? I don't know, there's somethings I like them not knowing about me. Harry is just so no - go I won't even bother thinking about it.

I must keep you secret, for even though I'm not ashamed of you (one would think I'd gotten over my green silk and lace fetish, but it seems not) I fear others, namely Harry, won't be so understanding. I understand him like no other, and I know he understands me, but ... perhaps, one day, when all is well, I shall tell him.

So, back to the point. Exactly a year since I fell in love.

I used to think I was in love all the time (not all the time as in a long period, but like there were so many times it seemed like all the time, rambling now) - when I was eleven I was _sure_ it must be love, for what else could have made my heart pound and my face flush so much? But no, it was a mere pre-teen crush. I also though it was love when Michael took me to Madam Puddifoot's. But that was just the fumes getting to my head. The third time was when Dean gave me a painting he'd done - of us together. It was so sweet, so beautiful, and it made something in me jolt.

But nothing, none of those sensations were anything like love.

The first time I thought I felt love, I thought I felt it for Harry. Only years after that, exactly a year ago, I found what it truly meant ot be in love with Harry.

I'd loved him for many years, obviously, but that day, out in the grounds near the lake, _that's_ when I _fell in love_ with him. It's not very romantic, I'll let you know, and I feel absolutely devastated and aweful about the circumstances.

I mean, who falls in love at a FUNERAL? Their Headmaster's Funeral? Notice the underlines, diary. I hardly ever use those, as Tom would know. But enough of him, it just makes me scared.

I must really be pathetic, huh? Oh well, at least it'll be something funny to tell the grandkids. That is, if I have any.

So yeah, falling in love at a funeral. But it gets better, much better, because, you see (this is really embarressing) I fell in love when he broke up with me. Harry, I mean. Broke up with me and you know what? I fell _not_ arse over elbow in love, but got dropped from an airpain (is that what they are called? I can never remember) and landing in a never ending ocean of love.

He'd broken up with me to keep me safe, which is just ... wow. Sure, it's bloody aweful and I'll never forgive him for it, but to think Harry cares for me _that _much? It made my heart go ka-boom-ka-boom-ka-flup. I could almost see it flipping about on the grass like a fish out of water.

And what did I do? Yeah, I agreed with him because I was, you know, shocked over the whole falling in love bit. Because, well, I though I'd already fallen in love, so it was a bit of a bummer at the same time. I'd been dating him for just over three weeks! How can I, Ginny Weasley, date the guy of her dreams since she was ten, and not be completely and utterly smitten? The first kiss would have been ideal, or maybe the time down by the lake should have cinched it.

I saw fireworks, bloody hell!! How could I have not been in love?! KISSING, FIREWORKS ... where did the love go? Decided to go and have a cup of tea or something?

But _no,_ I had to fall in love with him the very moment he decides that I'll die if he loves me. Like I wasn't already dead because he left me. Not only did I depend on him, but I'd actually beaten my mother at planning the wedding - I'd had a good look at one of Fluer's bridal gown catalogues over the previous summer holdiay before my fifth year (I like the muggle ones better - none of them are old fashioned so my mum can't have me dressed up like my auntie).

Well, by the time I'd gotten on the train to go home to the Burrow, I'd gotten over the whole "Oh Merlin, I'm IN LOVE now?" and was ready to kiss and make up with Harry. Didn't work out that way. Hermione, Ron AND Harry had all done a disappearing act, only to reappear at the station, tell their respective parents/ care givers that they were going to Harry's house and whola, ex-boyfriend is gone like a stain that's been treated by mum.

That had to be the most depressing few weeks of my life. Before then, I would have said the months during my first year, but they pale in my memory to staying at the Burrow, aching for him.

So I had to ruin my eldest brother's wedding in order to give Harry his just desert. The yelling was there , so were the red faces (now, I'm talking about both of us here) and a fair bit of thumping on the chest on my part (his chest, not mine!) and even a thrown paper cup.

It didn't hit him with the cup, by the way. It should have gotten him, me being a Chaser and all that, but it's a bit hard to aim when all you can see is red.

Oh well. There I was, looking like a tomato and shreiking like a banshee, and I go, "So now I'm in love with you and it's all you fault and you have to take me back!"

And Harry goes, looking quite like one of the lobsters that was served at dinner, "Well you're just going to have to fall out of love with me because I can't love you!"

Sucks. That's all I can say.

It's a year since Dumbledore's funeral, and tomorrow I'm going to see Harry.

Three hundred and sixty five days has changed me a lot. I'm more smitten with him than ever.

I wonder how's it's changed Harry.

Love, which should go to Harry, but will go to you for now,

Ginny.

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**Author's Note: My Anniversary fic, appropriated titled 365 days. Because, you see, it's been exactly a year since I signed up onto and I did promise to tell you about how I got my name. **

**But first, about the story above. It's a diary entry, as I'm sure you can figure out, and I breaks a lot of my Ginny theories while enforcing others, so I hope you realise I only wrote it so I had an excuse to give you another episode in my life story. I'm full of it, aren't I? Oh well.**

**Exactly a year ago on the 17th, I decided that I wanted to register onto I'd surfed the place for about a month, and I liked it. Any of you who've read Sitting on the Baby will know how my addiction began, so I'll spare you. Anyway, I opened up the form, and there it has the space titled 'Pen Name'. I wanted a cool name, because before then I'd been using names even I couldn't remember. In went my first try : "HarryPotterObsessed". Click.**

**'That pen name has already been used. Please use a different one.'**

**I was shattered. I tried so many combinations, including the words Harry, Potter, Girl, Lover, Obsessed, Chick, ect. I was about to give up. ****My dad walked in, wanting to use the computer, and sees what I am doing. "Oh no, not that _again,"_ He said. "This is becoming a disorder or disease!"**

**Ding. There's the light bulb in my head as I automatically answer, "Five more minutes, dad." Already the cogs are working, turning over the words Harry Potter, Obsession, and Disorder.**

**Which, I realised, I suffered from. Harry Potter Obsession Disorder. I grinned at the screen, and clicked on the box and typed: HARRY POTTER OBSESSION DISORDER SUFFERER. I was about to click register when I looked at the name and thought, _way to long._ And so, I shortened it, to the name I now have. 'HPOD Sufferer'.**

**My legacy (yep, I'm self obsessed, cut me some slack) went on from there, with me insisting to my friends that it was "H-P-O-D Sufferer, not _Haych-pod!" _To my adaptions of it on other sites to adhere to their no spaces or no underscores policies (in some places I am known as HPOD-Sufferer or HPODSufferer or even those without the capitals). I even lent my name to a friend of mine, who has named herself 'HPOS' as in 'Harry Potter Obsession Syndrome', which, sadly (or not so!) she had gotten from me.**

**So there's your story. Or, more correctly, mine.**


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